


Whiskey. Double.

by hiddenvice



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-27
Updated: 2011-10-27
Packaged: 2017-10-25 00:04:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/269396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiddenvice/pseuds/hiddenvice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's used to the drunken confessions--just part of the job. But when a really tall guy comes in and sits down at the bar, starts talking about this guy, he knows it's gonna be a long night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whiskey. Double.

It's a slow night, and Barry's refilling the peanuts when the kid sits down on the far end of the bar. "Whiskey. Double," he mutters.

The kid might be tall, but his face is young and his hair is shaggy, too long. He's probably a student at one of the nearby universities, and Barry would card him, but he looks depressed as all hell and it's Wednesday night--there won't be any undercovers out til the weekend.

"Sure," he says, and pours him well whiskey in a glass, neat. He's hardly let go when the kid is grabbing the glass off the bar and putting it to his lips. He drinks it down, not fast and not slow, just relentless, until it's gone.

Then the kid sets the glass down carefully on the bar, licks his lips. "Whiskey. Double."

Barry pours him another and leans back just before the kid snatches it quick.

"Hell," the kid says, voice low, and drinks that one down, too.

"You want to slow down a little, kid?" he asks, setting the bottle of whiskey back on the shelf.

"Not your kid," he says, putting the glass down on the bar. "No one's kid."

Barry knows when to back off, so he does, retreating to the other end of the bar, where his regulars are waiting. He manages to refill a few drinks and catch up on a few goings-on before he hears the tell-tale tapping of glass on laminate.

"Watch the stemware," he grumbles, making his way back over to the kid.

"Whiskey. Double."

"How bout we do em in singles from now on," he tells, more than asks. He pours the kid a shot in his glass and watches him out of the corner of his eye as he takes it quick, shooting it to the back of his throat and breathing long and deep through the burn.

"Shit," he says when he's done. His eyes dart to the clock behind the bar. "Is that right?"

"Close enough," Barry answers, turning back after putting the whiskey up again. The clock is set ahead ten minutes so he can close the place on time, but ten minutes more or less never hurt anybody.

"Knew he wouldn't show. Damn coward."

And Barry knows a lead in when he hears one. This kid is going to get into it, and Barry's going be stuck listening to him for the rest of the night. "That right?" he asks, bowing to the inevitable. He pours the kid a glass of water while he's at it.

"Yeah, John says 'jump' and he asks 'how high?'" He laughs low, no humor in it at all. "He probably couldn't get permission to take the night off. Probably working a job right now, risking his god damn life for nothing!"

Barry winces at the outburst and then looks over at Don, shakes his head. Don's always ready to throw out the ones who get too rowdy.

"You supposed to meet him here? Maybe I know him--haven't seen you before."

The kid picks up his glass of water and takes a couple of deep gulps of it, his Adam's apple bobbing crazily before he pulls off, gasping for air. "Nah," he says, wiping his lips on the sleeve of his denim jacket. "Just passing through. They're always just passing through." He sets the water down and nudges his empty whiskey glass forward.

Barry hesitates before reaching for the bottle and pouring him another shot. He's a big boy, he can probably take one more.

The kid stares at the glass in his hand for a minute, his breathing picking up steadily until - "I try to make something for myself and this is what I get: two years of nothing and finally a phone call. 'Meet me in Livermore,' he says. 'This hole in the wall,' he says. Damn it!"

He throws back the shot, and Barry would be annoyed about the "hole in the wall" comment if he wasn't starting to feel for the kid. "Family, huh?" he asks, cautious.

The kid starts to laugh, and it's a little too hysterical. Goes on a little too long. The other people in the bar are starting to take interest. "I fucking love him, you know?" the kid finally gasps out, and Barry cringes. "I do. But I didn't mean to - I, I mean, I shouldn't have kissed -" He chokes the last word off, but Barry heard it just fine. The kid holds the empty whiskey glass up against his chest, clutches it too tight, and stares at him like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle.

Barry's damn uncomfortable now, but he doesn't want to get the kid any more worked up than he already is. "Uh huh, well, I'm sure he understands," he soothes, reaching for the glass. "How about you let me have that and you can just settle up your tab..."

"I've got it," someone says. A man. Barry looks over the kid's shoulder and sees someone in his mid-twenties with short-cropped hair, wearing a leather jacket. He reaches into an inside pocket and pulls out a bundle of bills. "How much?"

Barry tells him and the man starts counting out bills. The kid just stares, wide-eyed, and Barry takes the opportunity to grab his whiskey glass.

"D-Dean?" the kid stutters, and the man gives him a wink. "Told you I'd meet you." Then he's sliding the money across the bar and grabbing the kid around the arm. He doesn't even look at Barry as he drags him away. "Come on, Sam. Been too long--gotta figure some stuff out."

Barry sees the way the kid, Sam, blushes and tucks his head against the man's neck as he stumbles out of the bar in his grip. The way the man, Dean, brushes his fingers through the curly hairs at the base of Sam's neck as they disappear into the balmy night.

Don gives him a look across the room and Barry shrugs. At least they didn't get into anything at the bar. He has a feeling it's a hell of a story, though.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment fic for spnroundtable, in response to transfixeddream's prompt: _Sam/Dean. He's used to the drunken confessions--just part of the job. But when a really tall guy comes in and sits down at the bar, starts talking about this guy, he knows it's gonna be a long night (outside pov a bonus)._ Originally posted here: http://spnroundtable.livejournal.com/244539.html?thread=2999867#t2999867.


End file.
